Assorted Flavors
by KT the Shimmer Skank
Summary: A series of vignettes featuring Degrassi crack pairings. The fluffy, the funny, the angsty, and all the possibilities in between. Now playing: Sean/Jimmy
1. If You Dare :: SeanHazel

**Assorted Flavors**

by KT the Shimmer Skank

Rated T to cover all the bases of what might be included throughout this project. Content will vary. I'll give warnings for each individual chapter. I still don't own Degrassi, for the record.

Notes: This is a collection of one-shots using a variety of genres and a variety of un-canon pairings. Some are more off-the-wall than others, some are more serious than others, all of them are about testing my creativity. Suggestions for pairings are more than welcome, and many of my reviewer suggestions have inspired me, though keep in mind I am less familiar with newer characters. I haven't seen much past season ten. If you take the time to read, please do review; I sincerely appreciate all reviews! Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**If You Dare :: Sean/Hazel**

Notes: So ever since Take On Me aired, I've sort of had a secret thing for this pairing. This ficlet basically takes a look at what the episode might have been like if things went a little differently, and ended a little more like The Breakfast Club. Light sexual overtones, pretty tame overall.

**:: o :: o :: o ::  
**

"Because she's too embarrassed to let anyone know she macked a total geek, even on a dare," Jimmy said in my defense. In our little detention session of Truth-Or-Dare, I had kissed Toby Isaacs, and forced him to keep it a secret.

"Nice, Hazel," said Sean, casting his dark glare across the room. "Very evolved."

I'll never forget that that racing nervous feeling I got in the pit of my stomach as he barreled across the cafeteria, right towards me. In the social realm, there was no doubt in my mind of where we stood in the hierarchy: Sean Cameron was scum, and I was royalty.

But in the real world, without my social safety net, I realized that Sean was dangerous. Those ice blue eyes, those enormous arms. He could crush me. He could pin me. He kind of scared me. And I kind of liked it.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"I don't make the rules," Hazel answered, looking as arrogant and elitist as ever. If she wasn't a girl I would've decked her. Who was she to act so high and mighty? She'd never once had to face a real struggle her entire life.

"No, you just follow them," I teased, approaching her. "You don't even have the _balls_ to tell us why you're in here. Paige pull your puppet strings, make you dance?"

"Paige can't make me to anything!" she snapped.

I'll never forget how disarmed I felt once I got close enough to look her in the eye. Those eyes were full of fire. She looked scared, but sort of intrigued, too. I felt like she was testing me. Trying to see how far she had to make me go to break her.

And then out it came, her big dark secret. She'd been surfing porn. Goody-two-shoes McSpirit Squad, surfing porn. The tepid stand-off of stares between us immediately cracked, and everyone in the room couldn't help but laugh. Even I was blushing. I couldn't believe it. Hazel Aden made me blush.

"I was curious," she said softly, shifting seamlessly from the sassy tough girl who'd held her own against me, back into the flowery puff of princess she was at school. But suddenly, I was kind of into that. Her wide smile, her sugary laughter. It was alluring.

-o-o-o-o-o-

When we snuck onto the roof, Jimmy and Ellie got caught up in teasing Toby, entertaining themselves by trying to make him walk to the edge and confront his fear of heights. I watched Sean, still stirred by the terror and tingling sensation of my face-to-face moment with him. It was the closest I'd ever been to him in my entire life. And I was drawn in.

He seemed bored with the tease-Toby game and wandered away from the group, shoving his hands in the pocket of his hoodie as he angstily sauntered off. I waited a few moments, making sure no one was paying attention, and followed him.

-o-o-o-o-o-

I stood on the edge of the roof, staring out at the miles of streets I could see from that high up. I heard the gravel crunch behind me and I kind of knew it was her before I turned around. I kind of wanted it to be her.

So fucking arrogant. Miss Princess. Soft eyes, soft lips, soft curves. Thought she was all that. And yet, here she was standing right in front of me. Afraid and eager at the same time. Was she testing me again? Was she here because she wanted to be? Or was she here to tease me with something I could never have?

I took a step towards her, hovering inches higher than her, unblinking. "Sure you think it's safe to be alone with me? No Jimmy here to protect you."

She narrowed her eyebrows and pursed her lips somewhat tauntingly. "Protect me from what? From you? You steal candy bars, for crying out loud."

I took another step closer, my face nearly touching hers. She winced just a little bit, and swallowed hard.

-o-o-o-o-o-

He was so huge and dark. I felt like he could knock me over just with his stone stare. I could feel his breath on my face, he was that close. I had never felt more unnerved and turned on in my entire life.

"Truth or dare?" he said in a husky voice.

"What?" I stammered.

"Truth… or dare?"

I took a slow breath. "Truth."

He stared me down, looking me all over and sending chills down my spine. "Okay. Truth: if I kissed you right now, would you let me?"

And then it was happening, his rough hands wrapped around me, full-on make-out session with Sean Cameron.


	2. The Leash :: PaigeManny

**The Leash :: Paige/Manny**

Notes: So like, am I the only person that is a superhardcore fan of this pairing? I always thought it was a pretty obvious AU pairing, but several people have told me they never even considered it. I personally have been obsessed with Maige since season one; there's just such a great sexual tension there. In any case, this takes place in season four, during a very specific scene at the end of "West End Girls." Contains some strong language.

**:: o :: o :: o ::**

It would be terribly cliche and a devastating understatement to say that I flirt with danger. My mother bought me my first pair of heels when I was nine years old and since then, I have been utterly fearless. I toy with people. I keep my friends close and my enemies closer. The ones I love the most are the ones I hate the most. It's like I'm completely incapable of having a normal, unconditional, manipulation-free relationship. I don't know what it is about me but I find that I am always pushing the lines as far as they will go. And sometimes, yes, they break, and I am left with a very big mess to clean up. But that never stops me. I continue to pull the strings in this puppet show I call my life, watching the marionettes dance and play.

There are so many players in this game. There was Dean; I tried so hard to get my hooks in him I didn't realize he was getting his hooks in me. He still haunts my dreams sometimes.

There was Terri, who I kept at my side because she was a loyal lapdog who was sure to always make me look good by contrast. I almost can't believe how many times I manipulated her insecurities to my advantage, like the time I got her drunk before the Grade 8 dance so that I could have Spinner to myself.

There's Ashley, who's moved in and out of my life so many times it's not even funny. I break her gently every moment I share with her, only to piece her back together because I need her to be whole.

There's Spinner, the boy I chased and simultaneously pushed away throughout junior high. When we finally did get together, it was a year and a half-long relationship of mutual teasing, bullying, and misleading one another. It's over now, and yet I know it's far from over; I am forever loving and hating him, holding and hurting him.

There's Hazel, who could maybe amount to something if I wasn't constantly smothering her with my controlling tendencies. She is merely a brick in the pedestal I stand upon.

And most recently, there is Matt Oleander, my taboo and scandal-ridden lover. I was drawn to him because I shouldn't be drawn to him, and I love him because I shouldn't love him. Flirting with danger yet again. Pushing those lines. Playing my games.

Then there's Manny. God, Manny. I wouldn't even know where to begin. The beginning, I suppose. The first time I ever really took notice of her. She bounced up to me with that unfaltering smile of confidence of hers, rolled out a cartwheel, and from that moment on, she was one of many tangled up in my strings. She's such a sassy little fuck, always trying to fill shoes that are too big for her own damn good.

But I guess I can't chew her out too hard. God knows I've still got that ominous pair of silver stilettos hiding in my closet somewhere. I can't hate her too much because I start to realize that she's just like me. Sometimes more of me than I am. Maybe she was right; maybe I did trip her on the prom queen stage because I was jealous. Maybe I didn't just want Manny to get it… Maybe I wanted Manny. Love. Hate. The way my relationships go, sometimes it's hard for me to tell the difference.

"At least it's summer," I had said, as we watched our reflections in the mirror. It was impossible not to be overwhelmed by her. Even in that baggy Degrassi sweater, disheveled and tear-stained, she was stunning. Even with that pissed-off pout, her face glowed, framed in a waterfall of ebony tendrils. I felt like I could eat her with a spoon… and that wasn't something I was used to feeling around a girl.

"Yeah," she answered, trying not to look back at me. I knew I was leering. "Summer's good."

The torture, the constant torture, of Manny Santos. Push and shove, hate and love, high and low. She was my friend one minute and my enemy the next. Forever locked in battle. I needed us to teeter on that ambiguous edge because I needed to always have her within reach. I thought back to the day before, at the mall, when she had begged me for a truce. "I hate that you hate me," she had said. There aren't enough words to describe the sick pleasure I got. After a tedious school year of Manny slipping away from me, asserting her shining independence and one-upping me, she was back at my feet. Right where I wanted her.

I wanted her on a leash. That signature perpetual fuck-with-your-head Paige Leash. I pushed her and manipulated her and sweet-talked her because I needed that _control._ It's always been a problem of mine, an indication of my inability to form healthy relationships. Always pulling my strings. I wasn't quite sure how to love people. I settled simply for owning them.

It was true. I wanted Manny Santos. I wanted her to be mine. And in that moment, watching her beautiful reflection in the mirror, I realized I would never get what I wanted if I kept playing the game this way. I couldn't make her love me. I couldn't trick her into it. She had to come on her own. It stung. It challenged my whole notion of how the world worked. Or at least, how _my_ world worked.

If I wanted her, I would have to cut the strings.

I looked over at her, scared and burning with want. I stepped closer to her. "I'm really sorry, Manny," I said softly. I was taking a bold step, but I wanted to take it, and I'm used to doing what I want. I looked into her eyes, ebony and enchanting. "And not just for tonight. For… always. For always messing with you. It's just kind of me, you know?" I half-laughed, and nervously lifted my hand. I cupped her cheek with my right hand, and stroked her hair with my left. "But you really are… someone I care about. Someone I like. Maybe I like you more than I should. But I want to learn how to start treating you right."

And following that same reckless arrogance that has gotten me in trouble so many times, I kissed her. I took in her soft lips, soaking in the warm pleasure of something I had subconsciously been fantasizing about for years. Manny. Manny. Manny.

Maybe it was too bold. Maybe I don't know what I want as much as I think I do. But I've always been one to play it dangerously.


	3. Crossover Hit :: ChrisAshley

**Crossover Hit :: Chris/Ashley**

Notes: So I wrote this pairing solely because many moons ago, my friend Aubrey told me she would _kill_ me if I ever wrote it. So hah. It's a completely random pairing but I liked the challenge of making it work. I don't see much of a future for Chrash in fanfiction, but the more I think about it, this would have been kinda of neat on the show. But then, I could get behind Chris being with ANYONE other than Emma. That couple made absolutely no sense. I would also rather see Ashley get with ANYONE rather than get back with Craig. In any case, this takes place in early season four, before "Time Stands Still" and "Neutron Dance" and all that junk. It's pretty much K+, innocuous and sweet.

**:: o :: o :: o ::**

She was the only other person he knew that came into the record store as religiously as he did. Nearly every day after school. The hip hop section was parallel to the indie section, and he watched her chunky chocolate hair bounce up and down as she browsed the albums. He saw her. She saw him. After awhile it started seeming silly, the way they saw each other every day and never acknowledged one another. Even if they _were_ on opposite sides of the aisle.

She probably didn't even know his name. But he knew hers. Everyone knew hers. Ashley Kerwin. She was intimidating. Miss Perfect, turned Goth Girl, turned Punk Princess. He'd seen her at the Battle of the Bands last year, screaming at the top of her lungs over whining guitar riffs and a slappin' drum-machine beat. It was sick. It was intoxicating. Day after day he watched her walk up and down the aisles of the record store, and he thought, what a great conversation starter that would be: Hey girl, like your pipes. You really know how to rock.

But she never looked up, her eyes roaming over titles intently, her fingers delicately strumming through plastic cases of musical experiences. Damn, he thought, those eyes were _blue._ But they never looked his way. So he kept his mouth shut, and he kept his eyes on his own side of the aisle.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The record store was her sanctuary, every day after school. When she was tired of thinking about school, and her family, and Craig, and the past… It was her escape. _Her_ version of retail therapy. She saw him there every day, and even though they weren't friends, or even on the same planet, it started to seem silly the way they never said hello. It started to feel weird, the way she could always feel him watching her, yet she never had the guts to look up and meet his eyes.

He probably didn't even know who she was. Probably thought she was just another hipster emo poser. But she knew who he was. He was the real deal. Chris Sharpe. He was intimidating. They talked about him at all the music venues. She heard his beats on the student radio station all the time. She'd seen him over the summer at Club Define once, raised up on a platform hovering over turntables. His hands moved over the vinyl and hit buttons and knobs with the fluidity of Beethoven leading an orchestra. She'd give anything to talk music with him, and was always trying to think of a way to start a conversation. But nothing ever came, so she continued to pretend to ignore him, keeping her eyes on her own side of the aisle.

-o-o-o-o-o-

It so happened one day, after Chris and Ashley had spent a huge length of time looking at music and pretending not to notice one another, that they found themselves leaving the record store at the same time. Since neither one of them wanted the other to think that they were aware of the other's presence, they watched their feet as they walked, trying to exit without making eye contact. Consequently, there was a very awkward and abrasive collision, and each of their purchases went flying to the ground.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry," said Ashley, blushing as she bent down to pick up what she'd knocked out of Chris's hand.

Chris made a similar embarrassed dash to the ground. "No, my bad, I'm so sorry," he said. He paused as he looked at the CD Ashley had dropped. "You like Atmosphere?"

Ashley smiled sheepishly. "Of course. Their music is so gritty and poetic and honest…" She stopped herself as she noticed the CD that _he _had dropped. "You like The Postal Service?"

Chris grinned, and his fingers lightly brushed hers as he took the CD from her hands. "Who doesn't? I wanted to sample some of this album for my show this weekend."

"You have a show? Wow, that's exciting."

Chris's face started to glow as he reached into his backpack and pulled out a flyer for her. "You should come. I'd love to hear what you think of it. I'm…."

"Chris," she interjected, taking the flyer excitedly from his hand. She blushed, feeling a little embarrassed. "Chris Sharpe. Right. Yeah. I've heard of you. I'm…"

"Ashley Kerwin," Chris finished for her with a sparkling smile. "Right."

"Right."

They waited for a moment awkwardly, realizing they were looking like fools standing in the middle of the store entrance.

Chris scratched the back of his neck. "Would you like to… grab a coffee? Talk music?"

Ashley's eyes brightened. "I thought you'd never ask."


	4. After School Snack :: MannyTracker

**After-School Snack :: Manny/Tracker**

Notes: I'm kind of in love with Tracker. I am down with anything involving Tracker. This is probably made obvious by my 16-chapter story… entirely from Tracker's POV. Because Tracker's the shit. But moving on, this one-shot is probably the most taboo and, dare I say, naughty, of the bunch. Contains strong sexual themes and a slightly controversial age-gap. There's no graphic sexuality… my warnings are more about the tone and the suggestiveness. This takes place in season two, after "White Wedding."

**:: o :: o :: o ::**

Her heart was a young one, only thirteen years old, and it still crushed her every day to see Craig Manning. Her first boyfriend had lasted less than twenty-four hours, and worst of all, he hadn't even kissed her. Every time she saw him in the hallway, laughing and smiling at Ashley Kerwin, her shattered heart singed with the burning desire for something she had never felt.

Emma was so lucky. She had already known love, deep and pure and true and tragic. She had already been kissed. The story of Emma and Sean was straight from a fairy tale… a princess and a pauper, two noble hearts from different worlds, brought together by destiny. Well, destiny and little bit of Manny. It was Manny who schemed to orchestrate their reunion at Snake and Spike's wedding, and as she watched them kiss on the middle of the dance floor, she wanted to be happy. But all she felt was that burning. Sadness, jealousy. Never kissed. Still just a little girl.

But in the midst of her cupid act, she had seen someone. A man. A rugged man, sexy and worn-down. Clad in a black t-shirt, eating cereal from a dirty pot. He was the gritty Sean Cameron times a thousand. Sean Cameron if he had been around the block a few times; Sean Cameron all grown up.

He was Tracker Cameron.

After the day she'd seen him at Sean's house, she was hooked. She changed her route home from school and went the long way, just in hopes of seeing Tracker outside. It soon grew into obsession. He was so grungy, so dangerous-looking. Shaggy blonde curls and scruffy facial hair. She wondered what it was like to kiss a boy—or, really, a man, with facial hair. It gave her stomach a flutter to catch him with his shirt off. Beads of sweat collected on his rough, sun-scorched shoulders. His hands were calloused and covered in black grease. He was dirty. He was strong.

She started wearing tighter shirts. She started wearing make-up. She wore her cutest jeans, the ones with the sparkles on the back pockets. She even went to the mall and bought a sparkly pink halter top. She wanted to catch his eye, and to do that, she had to make sure he didn't see her as a never-kissed little girl.

One day, she finally approached him. "Hey," she said, wearing her shortest purple shorts and a red t-shirt. She stared nervously at her white Keds, waiting for him to respond.

Tracker rose up from behind the greasy pile of motorcycle he was working on, and eyed the girl curiously. "Uh, hey," he responded in confusion. "Sean's not here."

"I know," Manny answered. She swallowed hard, smiling to hide her nervousness as she shoved her hands into her pockets. "I just thought I'd say hey. I pass by here on my way home from school all the time and.. you're Sean's brother so… Yeah. I just thought I'd say hi. I'm Manny."

"Cool, kid." Tracker ducked back down behind the motorcycle, blocking his face from view.

Manny lifted her left sneaker and scratched the back of her right ankle, disappointed at how uninterested he seemed. "And you're Tracker, right?"

Tracker responded with a vague grunt from behind the motorcycle.

Manny nodded. "Cool. Is that um…" she walked around to the other side of the motorcycle, taking him by surprise. He barely knew this little girl, and here she was up in his face for no apparent reason. She reached out with her soft hand, nails painted Barbie-pink, and lifted up the sleeve of his sweaty white t-shirt. "Is that a tattoo?"

Tracker met her innocent eyes, glowing bronze, as she smiled at him naively. He was a little more than astounded. Was this kid for real? "Yeah," he answered, simply, casually shaking off her hand. "Just some dumb shit I thought looked cool when I was too young to know what I was doing.

Manny's smile widened as she thought of the way his boy-skin felt against her girl-skin. She blushed a little. "I like it. It's really… hot."

Tracker raised his eyebrows, unable to suppress a smirk. "Uh-huh. Well, thanks kid, but… I gotta lot of work to do. And I'm sure you've got homework or Girl Scouts or something to get to."

"Right… well…." She gave a timid wave as she looked him over once more. "I guess I'll see you around."

Tracker didn't answer or look up. Manny walked away, hearing nothing but the squeaking of a wrench.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Now that she had actually spoken to him, she was more head over heels than ever. She continued to pass by every day, and thought he wasn't always there, she always made a note to say hello and smile.

Tracker was no idiot. He knew the kid had a crush, and after awhile, he even found it endearing. She kind of reminded him of himself at that age, trying to fill shoes that were too big, making a fool of himself chasing girls that were way out of his league. He grew used to seeing Manny every day, wearing her little prissy outfits, smiling his way with desperation in her eyes. It was endearing. And flattering. And sort of cute.

After weeks of getting nothing more than an obligatory wave from Tracker each day, Manny decided she needed another excuse to engage him. One day after school, she approached him with a brown paper bag.

"Hey Tracker," she said. "Working hard today?"

Tracker didn't even have to look up from his work to know who it was. "You know it, kid," he answered flatly.

Manny took another step closer. "I thought you might be. So I baked you these." She held out the paper bag.

Tracker looked up, bewildered, and took the package from her hand. He looked inside and took a whiff of the homemade chocolate chip cookies.

When he didn't say anything, Manny continued, "I just thought you might like something sweet."

"Um, thanks." He set the bag down on the front steps and kept working.

Manny twisted her fingers nervously around a lock of soft ebony hair. "You should try them, they're really good." Tracker didn't respond. "They're really good with milk, actually. How about I go inside and get us a couple glasses of milk?"

She started to sweat just a little bit as his eyes met hers. "You want to go inside?" he asked. Though it didn't show, Tracker was starting to sweat a little bit, too. Her bravado was admirable… and a little unnerving. He shook his head. "Nah, it's cool, kiddo. I'll eat them later, when my hands are clean. Besides, it's kind of a wreck in there, real messy. I don't think Sean would want you to see the place like this."

"I won't tell Sean," she said quickly. A little too quickly.

Tracker watched her eyes carefully. The girl was determined. He tossed his wrench and grease rag to the ground. "Alright then. Let's go in and have some cookies and milk then, I guess."

Manny followed him into the house, suppressing a high-pitched squeal of excitement. She loved the look of the place. It reeked of boy. Socks and soda cans littered the floor. It was such a… bachelor pad. She was in heaven. She placed the bag of cookies on the table and waited while Tracker washed his hands at the kitchen sink. This was it. This was her opportunity.

She walked over to him, and he barely had time to reach for a towel to dry his hands before she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Tracker's first instinct was to throw up his hands and yank himself away, but the feeling of her lips on his was oddly satisfying. She tasted like cotton candy. He found himself squeezing her middle gently with his wet hands, feeling her small, curvy body as he slid his tongue gently into her lightly parted lips.

Then he realized what the hell he was doing. "Whoa!" he said, pulling her off of him abruptly.

Manny was positively glowing. "What? What's wrong."

Tracker covered his mouth with his hand as paced back and forth in the kitchen, mildly flipping out. "Look um, Manny… I know, you think you like me but I… I am a lot older than you. And I'm sorry but it's just… it's not there. I'm sorry, kid. You should really go."

"But..."

"No buts. You gotta go."

Reluctantly, Manny trudged out the door, which Tracker slammed harshly behind her. But despite the sting of rejection, her heart was pounding. She was panting. She touched her flushed cheek and smiled. Her first kiss. She'd finally been kissed. It was better than she ever would have thought. Everything she had wanted. And now she wanted more.

-o-o-o-o-o-

This would be the day, Manny thought to herself. The day she made Tracker fall in love with her. She was wearing a black skirt and the sparkly pink halter top she'd purchased especially for Tracker. Clutching a brown paper bag as she walked home from school, she saw Tracker sitting on the back steps, smoking a cigarette.

"Hey," she said with a friendly smile.

Tracker tried not to look at all the bare skin that Manny had exposed. He rolled his eyes and looked away, puffing on his cigarette. "Go home, Manny."

But Manny only took another step forward. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for yesterday." She giggled, and blushed. Tracker tried not to notice. "You're just so cute, and I do have a crush on you. I guess I just got in over my head. So I wanted to give you this. To apologize."

She held out the paper bag, an innocent, cotton-candy-glossed smile on her face. Tracker hesitated, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he examined the bag in her dainty hand. Slowly, he took it from her, still trying not to look at her. "More cookies?" he said, opening the bag. His mouth hung wide open as he pulled out what was inside. A condom, and a pair of pink cotton underwear. Flabbergasted, he looked up at her. She was still smiling sweetly. He couldn't help but notice the black skirt, and wonder at what might be missing underneath there. "These are, um…" He coughed, choking on the words. He held the panties on a single finger. "These are yours?"

Manny nodded.

"Wow. Jesus Christ. You are… you are something else, Manny." He buried his face in his hands, trying to get a hold of his senses. "How old are you, again?"

Manny walked up to Tracker, and spoke gently, close to his ear. "Old enough to know what I want," she answered, even though she was making all of this up as she went along. "I'm not a little girl. Really."

Tracker sighed. He knew he was in over his head… but he couldn't tear his eyes off her. "Right. Well…" He stood up, and opened the door. "Come on inside… let's talk."

Manny grinned as skipped up the stairs and followed him inside.


	5. Hold On, Baby :: CraigMia

**Hold On, Baby :: Craig/Mia**

Notes: I have no idea where this one came from, just kind of grab bag thing, but once I started writing, I realized I kind of liked it. A lot. Dunno why. The title is taken from the lyrics of the song "I Don't Trust Myself (With Loving You)" by John Mayer. This ficlet is strongly inspired by that entire song. As far as I'm concerned, it is _the_ Craig/Mia theme song. There is a fair amount of strong language in this one, and references to all the messed up Craig stuff. That's pretty much all the warnings you need. Takes place in the future, Mia's senior year, but keep in mind season 8 does not exist to me.

**:: o :: o :: o ::**

I am laden with guilt just being here. Every step we take further into this relationship, I feel like I'm making a huge mistake. But still, it keeps going further. We've been settled in our new apartment for a month now. Mia is tickled. She's been scouring thrift stores, picking up little things here and there, decorating the place so that it really feels like _home._

Deeper, our lives become intertwined. Deeper I fall in love with her. But love isn't a peace treaty. Love isn't a magic wand. Love isn't a guarantee. Love won't pay the bills. Love won't keep you safe. Love doesn't mean that everything will be okay. I saw my father beat my mother and myself enough times to know that. I saw Joey blow enough relationships to know that. I'm not sure what love is, but I've broken enough goddamn hearts myself to know what love definitely is _not._

I remember the promise I made to Manny, when I was young and naïve and in over my head. _We could be a little family._ I was wholly committed to the idea. I was even excited. I thought that building a family would be just the thing to make me better. Just the thing to fill the empty space that had been haunting me since the deaths of both of my parents.

In retrospect, I can't fucking imagine what would have transpired if Manny had gone through with her pregnancy. We never would have made it. We were a trainwreck from the moment we went on our first date. We were just fucking kids. We both had so much more to learn before we would have been ready to make a commitment, raise a child. What would have happened if I'd been raising a family with Manny when my bipolar disorder surfaced? How badly would I have hurt them? And what about my music career? Manny's acting dreams? Those things never would have happened. We would have been bitter and miserable and lost, two fuck-ups fucking up their off-spring.

No, instead of early fatherhood, tumultuous years of teenhood were in store for me. Mistakes, medications, toying with girls' feelings, drug addiction. Thank god no child had the misfortune of having me for a father. Rehab was a mind-blowing experience. I really felt like I was being renewed. Like this time, the emptiness was filled, the demons inside me were squelched. I took all my sins and my mistakes and I turned them into songs. I took them on the road, to send them off on soundwaves and be free of them at last.

Wrong again. I lured Ashley to Europe with me, under some pretense that our tragic and gruesome past was somehow an indication of just how true our love really was. The European tour was when I started to let my life unravel, yet again. Sleeping around, boozing, partying. Relapse. I grew violent and lost and incoherent, too coked-up to even hold my guitar the right way. Ashley quit the band, went back to school like she always should have. I was dropped from the label, and checked back into rehab. Time to rebuild again.

When I completed the program a year later, I knew I had to take things slow. I moved back to Toronto, where I knew I had friends. A support system. I got a job as a sound technician at a club, running P.A.'s from the back booth. Watching performers play with the same dreams I'd once had glinting in their eyes. Sometimes I played, on slow weeknights, just me and my guitar. But I wanted to keep it simple.

Simple went out the window when I saw her walk into my club one night. I'd been living a drinkless, drugless, sexless existence until then. Trying to take it easy, stay away from temptation, reorganizing my priorities. But when I saw her I felt my heart stop, corny lovesong style. She ignited the dead embers inside of me. She made me feel high again. And this was all before I'd even spoken to her. Just those shimmering brown eyes. That soft skin. That gleaming smile. I guess I've always been a sucker for those brunettes.

From the sound booth, I watched her all night long. She giggled and danced with a small group of friends, smiling like she was the queen of the universe. She glowed under the swirling club lights. She only had one drink, something pink. I watched her sip it carefully all night long. It was like I could feel the blood moving in my veins again, after months of a mundane and lifeless existence. I absolutely had to have her.

I waited in the cold by the exit as the show ended, watching a flood of teenagers file out of the door. At first I was worried I wouldn't be able to spot her in the rolling crowd, but I caught those dark curls against those soft cheeks without a second glance.

"Hey!" I said, a little too desperately, grabbing her arm and yanking her towards me.

"Whoa!" she reacted, eyeing me with disgust. Behind her, her friends stood with their arms folded, watching me as if they needed to pounce at any moment. Mia scowled, lowering her eyes at me. She still looked hot. "Excuse me? What's your problem?"

I started to sweat. I was so out of the game. I'd pretty much sworn off women for good, and now I was realizing how out of practice I was. "Nothing. Well, I have a lot of a problems actually…" She continued to stare defensively. "Heh. Okay. Let me start over. I think you're gorgeous, I'd like to talk to you."

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, start talking."

"Okay. Um. Do you come here often?" I was suddenly beginning to think that maybe I couldn't do this. She and her friends eyed me like I was some kind of lecherous wino. Who could blame them, with my shaggy hair, tired flannel, worn-out eyes. This girl made me feel old.

She half-smiled, half-frowned. "Not really. This is kind of a special occasion, actually. I'm usually too busy to go out."

I scratched the back of my head. "Well… are you too busy to go on a date sometime? I'd really like to take you out. What are you doing tomorrow?"

Behind her, her small group of friends giggled to one another. Mia looked back at them for a second, and then returned her dark eyes to me. "Tomorrow I'm going to watch my daughter in her first dance recital." She said it proudly, unapologetically. She stared right into my eyes, like it was a challenge.

My breath caught in my throat for only a moment. Daughter? Responsibility? Putting someone else's needs before your own? Whoa. This girl made me feel young.

But I couldn't turn down those eyes. I was willing to give it a try. I'll never really know what made me take that leap that night. What made me pull her out of the crowd in the first place, what made me want to see her again so badly, what made me think I could handle a girl with a kid. But I did it.

"Dance recital?" I said, chuckling awkwardly. "I love dance recitals. Do you think I could go with you? I'm really good at sneaking popcorn into places."

She cocked a suspicious eyebrow at me, but after one of her friends nudged her abrasively, she finally rolled her eyes and nodded. "Alright. Izzy and I could use a ride, anyway." She stepped closer to me and retrieved a pen from her purse. She wrote her phone number on my hand, old-school style, and for some reason it was the sexiest thing I'd seen years. "Give me a call and I'll give you directions to my mom's house. You have to pick us up at seven."

She smiled coyly and I watched her walk away, feeling a tingle of excitement that had long been absent from my tired bones. I smiled at the numbers on my hand, in girl-scrawl. But then I paused. "Wait!" I yelled after her. "What's your name?"

She laughed, still walking away. "It's Mia."

Mia. Mia. "I'm Craig!"

She laughed again. "Duh," she said. "I know who _you_ are…"

That was ten months ago. Almost a year, we've been together. There's not much else to say other than I felt fast and hard. I gave her rides home from school, picked Izzy up from daycare, drove them to the grocery store. Anything to make her life easier. Anything to spend time around her. It's not like I had any semblance of social life to get in the way. In no time at all, everything became all about Mia. I wrote her songs. I bought her daughter Barbies. I made her pasta.

I could hardly believe she was four years younger than me. She was vigor and sunshine a lot of the time, but in the evenings, when she laid Izzy in her bed, I could see that she was so much more tired than an 18-year-old should be. She had lived her entire adolescence bearing the burden that I had been spared. She had been hurt, teased, run ragged. But she still had a spirit that I hadn't had since I was a kid. That goddamn mother fucking smile. That's what got me into this. I couldn't get enough of it. I would do almost anything just to see that smile. It was better than coke. Better than music. Better than Manny's tits. Better than Ashley's voice. Better than all the frivolous things I'd once thought could make me happy.

For once, it was about making someone _else _happy_._

And now here we are. Mia graduates in a month. I moved out of my apartment and into this one with her, a little bigger than my last, with an extra bedroom for Izzy. It's kind of surreal, being a father figure. It's not easy. It's exhausting. But there's something about it that I like. It keeps me out of trouble. And we give each other strength. Me, Mia, Izzy. We love each other.

But what the hell is love? What the hell am I doing here? Why the hell are we living together? I'm sending all the signals that I want this forever, but I just can't trust myself. All I've ever done is fuck up. But deeper, our lives become intertwined. I should be ashamed of myself, coming into their lives like this. Pretending to be a man that I'm just not. I should leave while I still can. The sooner I leave, the less it will hurt.

Mia comes out of Izzy's bedroom and into the living room suddenly, where I am sitting on the couch. The TV's on mute as I sit lost in my thoughts. She smiles as she curls up next to me, laying her head of soft curls on top of my shoulder. She sighs, and I can feel the movement of her lungs through my entire body.

"So Izzy's all tucked in," she says. She looks up at me with those brown eyes that I fell in love with. "Hey, what's wrong? You look upset."

I hold my breath. Do I really want to tell her what I'm thinking? Her eyes are waiting. Trusting me completely. Genuinely concerned. How can she be so sure about me? Hasn't she been treated badly enough in the past to be careful around men like me?

I exhale. I pull her close to me, wrapping my arms around her and clutching her as tight as I can. I kiss her hair. "Nothing's wrong, baby," I tell her, and I want it to be true so badly. "Everything's perfect."

I still can't let go of her. I love the way her breath feels against my chest. This is the first thing I haven't completely fucked up. I want to keep it that way. I've got to hold on to this one.


	6. Mid Life Crush :: SnakeEllie

**Mid-Life Crush :: Snake/Ellie**

Notes: Something a little lighter. Takes place in season five, kind of a precursor to Snake's "affair" with Hatzilakos. Contains nothing explicit or offensive, except for the teacher/student taboo.

**:: o :: o :: o ::**

You watch them grow, being the only teacher for Media Immersion, in a school where students stay from the seventh grade until graduation. I've seen them all go through changes, grow into real people with real problems, even my own daughter. It's an opportunity a lot of people don't have. To watch people grow into themselves.

I remember when she first transferred to Degrassi. It's kind of hard not to. She always stood out from the crowd. I remember being amused by her wild red hair, her loud and unique sense of style. She kind of reminded me of a young Spike. She made herself an outcast on purpose, and the other kids didn't always respond well to her, but she had something they didn't. She was smart. I always respected her insight in class, her talent for expressing complex ideas through media. I watched her grow from that experimental youngster to a troubled teenager, a dark and confused girl, into a beautiful and capable woman.

As I guide her through her senior year, helping her prepare a portfolio for colleges, spending hours together after school, I find myself confronted with feelings no teacher should ever have. Feelings no married man should ever have. She points her soft, delicate fingers towards the computer screen and my insides burn. Day in and day out, I want to reach out and feel that milky white skin against my own. I want to stroke that deep red hair, brush it aside and look into those scarred hazel eyes. Every time she speaks I fall harder, and I have to constantly scold myself internally for being so enraptured by a girl who is utterly off-limits.

I know I'm just being old and deluded, going through some kind of early mid-life crisis, thinking a young woman with so much potential would ever even begin to reciprocate feelings for her goofy high school teacher. But sometimes when I hear her laugh, when I see her look at me and listen to me, I feel like maybe she could want me. Maybe she could love me. Maybe we could have something.

She collects her things and puts them into her school bag, and walks towards the door to go home.

"Um, Ellie, wait," I tell her, the words jumping out my mouth before I can stop them. I'm afraid of what I might say next. Afraid my feelings might take over. But… maybe that's what I want?

She turns around and looks at me, expectantly. "Yeah?" she says.

I swallow hard. "Um, good luck. With your applications. I always knew you would excel."

She smiles and walks back over to me. "Thanks, Mr. Simpson." She reaches forward and pulls me into a hug. An innocent, utterly platonic hug. I hold my breath, hold my desires inside. She pulls away. "You've been a great teacher."

I nod awkwardly, and it isn't until she's out the door that I exhale. She walks away, off to become an amazing woman that I will never know. I collapse into my chair and sigh. Who am I kidding? I need to snap out of this. Maybe I should just buy Joey's motorcycle.


	7. Wildfire :: SpikeSean

**Wildfire :: Spike/Sean**

Notes: You know, if I wasn't trying to keep this T-rated, I totally would have turned this into a steamy little lemon. But alas. Contains (T-rated!) sexual content. Set in season six, which should be pretty obvious. Lemme know whatcha think.

**:: o :: o :: o ::**

Life has dealt me a lot of twists and turns. A lot of hardships and twisted relationships. I'm proud of my life, I really am, but sometimes I feel like I've been cheated out of love. Love for me has never been what they said it would be. Life has made me promises that love has never kept. Even when love has made me happy, there is always a tinge of bittersweet.

I never expected to be pregnant at sixteen. I never expected for the father of my child to end up permanently mentally disabled. I never expected to raise and love a daughter all by myself for thirteen years. I never expected to marry one of my oldest friends. I never expected to get married in a t-shirt, after a tear-stained fight over an unplanned pregnancy. I never expected my husband to cheat on me, and I certainly never expected to forgive him. Though my life has been filled with its ups, the downs have always left me questioning.

It comes as less of a surprise than it should be, then, that my newest brush with love is equally unexpected. Far away from the realm of normalcy, I have lately been sleeping with the teenage boy who takes refuge in my home. Who I've known since he was thirteen. Who just got out of jail. Who dates my daughter. I've crossed lines I never thought I would. I'm having an affair with Sean Cameron.

Love for me has never been what they said it would be.

I remember when he first started coming around, when he was just a kid. A troubled kid. He almost reminded me of me, sporting that denim jacket like he was real tough stuff. I remember trying to make people intimidated by me. I remember what I was really hiding.

I remember when he stormed out of dinner, piercing me with his gaze of loathing, offended because I'd tried to offer him leftovers. I remember trying to be an island when I was that age, too.

I remember picking him up when he was drunk. I remember when I started to realize this kid was kind of dangerous. I remember wondering if Emma really knew what she was getting herself into. I remember watching him carefully sometimes, daring him with my eyes, thinking to myself, _don't you hurt my baby._

And now, not so many years later, he invades my every waking thought. Every time our eyes meet, in the middle of a family dinner or while I'm folding laundry and the kids are doing their homework, we run the risk of exposing ourselves. The heat of our gaze is incriminating. I see him and I can barely keep the burning want from bleeding through my skin, showing in my face and revealing our secret to those I love the most. To those it would hurt the most.

But still we can't seem to stop. Casual brushes against each other as we pass by wandering through the house. The thought that Sean might stand close beside me and discretely stroke his fingers along my hip, or reach over and touch my thigh under the dinner table, is the thing that keeps me going each day. Secret touches, secret glances. We are both under a spell.

You might be wondering how I could let a thing like this happen. It started one day when I thought I was alone. Jack was napping, Snake and Emma were at school, and I had the rare opportunity to sit on the couch by myself. Free from my maternal and wifely responsibilities, and I could finally cry my eyes out. No reason, really. Just everything. Just stopping in a rare moment of solitude to realize, Jesus Christ, this is _life._ This is my life. I was watching my baby girl grow up and slip away before my eyes; I was tired from Jack's constant energy and constant needs; I could feel the spark of love in my marriage grow dimmer every day. I felt alone and exhausted and empty. Sometimes it's just too much. Sometimes a woman needs to cry.

And then he came through the door. I'd forgotten all about him. How he was part of my home now. Another mouth to feed, another person to worry about. Another pair of eyes just waiting to watch me screw it all up.

"Spike?" he asked, sounding scared and concerned. I was so ashamed. I knew I was supposed to be strong for the family. It only took seconds for him to be at my side, placing his hand on my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, but it had never been more obvious that I _wasn't_ okay. He rubbed my shoulders. Softly, he said soothing things in my ear. I had never realized before how good Sean's hands could feel. How easily they chased the stress away. How I longed to feel those hands in all kinds of places.

Our eyes met. And it just happened. Like a wildfire. Lust. Nothing happened on that day, but the moment was enough. As soon as it was lit, the flames just kept towering higher until we couldn't hold it in anymore. We went after each other. We started sleeping together. We burned the lines that kept us separated and never looked back. We can never look back. We just can't seem to stop. We are both under a spell.

Under the same roof we share with my family, our love is ablaze. Bright red flames and a haze of hot smoke that no one can see but us.

He makes love to me hard and fierce, like Snake never would. With him I taste something wild and pure. When we're together I let out the screaming girl that I had buried somewhere deep inside me. He frees me. He excites me. Our secret kept me warm at night. I want to feel guilty but I just can't. All of love's failed promises... Damn it, this one's for me. This, I'm keeping.

Love for me was never what they said it would be.


	8. The Best Medicine :: SpinnerLiberty

**The Best Medicine :: Spinner/Liberty**

Notes: They just never do enough on the show with Liberty, you know? In particular I wish they would have let her kick Lucas' ass a little harder. You can go ahead and call me out for being corny here, but I'm sucker for fluff when it comes to both of these characters. I think something like this fic would have been cute and fit into season seven's storyline pretty well. This starts in Death Or Glory part one, and goes off in an AU direction from there. Contains a bit of violence.

**:: o :: o :: o ::**

Green like emeralds, burning light filtering through hazel prisms. Her eyes shined. Shined with fury. Spinner watched, astounded but oddly aroused, as she screamed and dove right for that grinning scumbag Lucas. He was bigger than her, but her love for J.T. was bigger than anything. Nothing could heal the wound his death left in her heart. And no one was going to get away with saying something like that about J.T.

Her soft skin shimmered with the sweat that collected on her arms as she pushed him to the ground. Fists flew, blood trickled, and all the while her shrill screams echoed through the parking lot. Everyone else was too shocked or terrified to move, and it was Spinner who swooped in.

"Liberty! Liberty _stop!_"

He wondered vaguely if that's what he looked like when he threw punches. If he became a wholly different person. If he seemed lost inside the darkest part of himself.

He pried her angry claws from Lucas' bleeding face, cradled her in his arms as he pulled her away. Lucas and his cronies skulked away, the crowd left in awe, Liberty left in Spinner's arms. She sobbed and she sobbed, reliving the most painful moment of her life. Re-feeling all of that agony, that anger at the unfairness. Spinner could only clutch her soft body, surprised and confused at what he was supposed to do with the cries that fell into his chest. He could _feel_ how much she hurt. Her pain bled into him the same way her tears bled into his t-shirt.

After he got the news from the doctor, the irony and hypocrisy hovered over him daily, riding alongside his fear and sadness. After school, Peace Council meetings. After after-school, fights and explosions of rage. Struggling for peace, struggling for a piece of his manhood. Watching Liberty's face while she spoke passionately about making things better. Watching guys' faces get beaten and bruised because he knew that it would never _be_ better. Jane was pretty but Jane walked away, because Jane didn't understand. Spinner was alone. Alone with his sadness, with his rage, with his hopelessness.

Liberty eyed him accusingly at every meeting. She knew. She knew because everyone knew, everyone knew that Spinner was out of control. She knew because she could see it in his eyes. Alone with sadness, with rage, with hopelessness. She had felt it before.

"I get it, you know," she said to him one afternoon, as they left the library.

"What?" Spinner said, as if he had no idea what she was talking about. Denial was the game he was playing. But denial was a game Liberty knew all too well.

"This fighting, this prove-yourself machismo bull shit. You like it because it makes you feel like you're in control. Sometimes I want to do things like that, too. But you're never in control, Spinner. You never were. What you're doing won't change the truth."

Spinner rolled his eyes and quickened his pace, trying to hurry away from the painful and true words she spoke. "Whatever, Liberty. Mind your own business."

As he walked away, Liberty stared, and he could feel those emerald eyes pressing against the back of his skull. "You're going to get yourself killed," she called coldly after him. She said it because she knew that he knew. Everyone knew what could happen in the crossfire. Everyone knew what _had_ happened in the crossfire.

He just kept walking.

But the words were real. The words were real and they were hard for her to say, because of all she'd gone through. The words weren't what Spinner wanted to hear, but they were what he needed to hear. The words were real. They soaked in. Liberty soaked in.

As he finally faced his battle with cancer with sincerity, the fighting stopped. The meetings grew more important to him. Working with Liberty, working to make things better for the school, helped make things better for him. It was like therapy. Liberty was like therapy.

Something started to grow. Something happened when they were together. Both of them started smiling more often. He needed her because she made him smile, made him feel strong when chemo and the pressures of graduating on time made him feel weak. She needed him too, because he made her smile, made her stomach get ticklish in a way it hadn't been since J.T. died. Smiles brought gentle touches, gentle touches brought kisses. Kisses brought more smiles, and they were together. Coping. Growing. Happy, together.

After months of struggle and comfort with his new girlfriend by his side, he was finally able to walk into school with a confident swagger. She was sliding books out of her locker, and he broke into a jog to greet her. He swept her up in his arms. He thought of the first time he'd held her in his arms, how different things had been then. She didn't feel so frail now. And neither did he.

He leaned in for a long celebratory kiss. "I'm in remission!" he said, beaming. "I got the results today."

Liberty's eyes lit up, shining. Shining with joy. "That's wonderful. I'm so happy, Spin." She placed her hand on his shoulder, her gaze soft and sincere as she watched his face. She took a deep breath. They had been through so much together. She was finally ready to say words she had only said to one other person. "You're strength has been… so inspirational. Being with you has really helped me grow. And… and I love you."

The words washed over him, startling but warming. He had been waiting for them for awhile. He smiled at her. "I love you, too, Liberty."


	9. Eyes and Elbows :: EllieJohnny

**Eyes and Elbows :: Ellie/Johnny**

Notes: This one contains some strong language, alcohol use, and sexually-suggestive content. It's slightly AU and slightly OOC; basically this is my version of Johnny before everything we've seen of him in Season 8. Think Johnny in "Live to Tell." I find this pairing pretty hot, personally. This will be a good contrast to the last chapter, which was pretty fluffy. Also, by the way, if you've suggested a pairing to me, I'd like to let you know that I am in fact working on all of them. Thanks for reading!

**:: o :: o :: o ::**

Sophomore year was not my most glamorous. Running the Core, moving into upper-level classes, working late nights at the movie theater to help pay for my one-bedroom apartment. It was a juggling act. A lonely juggling act. I barely had time for myself, let alone the friends I said I'd never forget. Let alone, god forbid, _guys_. Nope, sophomore year was a sexless, sleepless, stress-ridden existence. Lots of coffee and little or no company.

And okay, so yes, maybe in the absence of companionship I dabbled with a new acquaintance. Someone to help me take the edge off. His name was Morgan.

Captain Morgan, to be specific.

Coffee shops were too cliché and too overcrowded with college students, so I had begun to drift to the pool hall to get my studying done. Dark, dirty, nothing but the sounds of pool balls slamming against each other. It had an edgy kind of appeal.

So I had my spot in the back, my textbooks and Core templates strewn across a table, where I would sit for hours on end. I was gaining weight from all the cheese fries I was eating. My existence sometimes seemed confined to that dimly-lit study hole. Hating my life, scribbling away notes, and keeping a gentle stream of rum poured into my sodas. Under the table. I mean, not _a lot_, just… enough to keep me calm.

_He_ was there almost every day. A greasy high school kid, bad mustache and tacky green hat. Unbrushed blonde curls, smug grin. Horrendous camo outfits. He reminded me of a grimier version of Sean from four years ago, which made me shake my head at the thought. What ridiculous taste I had in boys back then. In college, I was no longer a sucker for those damaged, cliché tough-guys. I had come a long way from Hot Topic skirts and red arm-socks.

Or so I thought.

_He_ was sauntering out of the building one night with his group of friends, and he leaned on my table. I scowled at the dirty-sleeved elbow he had placed on top of my Sociology book. "What's your name?" he said.

"Too-Old-For-You," I responded with a sarcastic grin. I met his eyes only for a moment before returning to my studying.

He laughed, and he left. I shook my head and poured more rum into my drink.

_He_ was still there, every afternoon. Bent over the pool tables, guffawing with his garish posse. I started to realize that he was watching me. Quietly leering. Occasionally I couldn't help but lift my eyes, and he would be staring, like he'd been waiting for it. He would lick his lips, mime a dramatic kiss. Completely immature. I would roll my eyes and go back to studying.

"What's your name?" he would ask every day as he headed for the back door.

Elbows on the table. Fearless eye contact that made my insides burn.

"Not-A-Snowball's-Chance-In-Hell," was typical of my responses. I tried not to be bothered or intimidated by this high school punk, but he never even blinked at my cold rejection. He laughed, and he left. Every day.

"What's your name?" Fire in his eyes.

"Go-Home-To-Mommy." My drunk fingers tingling.

"What's your name?" The corners of his mouth smirking ever-so-slightly.

"You're-Wasting-Your-Time-Junior." My mouth watering.

"What's your name?" His elbows moving closer to my body each day.

"Go-Fuck-Yourself." Months of sex-less-ness making my body melt under the heat of his too-close body.

"What's your name?" His dark, quiet voice slicing gently through my resolve.

"Ellie."

_He_ was Johnny DiMarco. And he didn't say anything after that. He didn't have to. He helped me pack up my books. We silently passed back and forth my flask of rum as we rode the bus. We walked silently into my apartment. We fucked.


	10. Stand By Me :: JTEmma

**Stand By Me :: JT/Emma**

Notes: This one fulfills a special request by Amy, and was written as my birthday present to her! Yay. It involves nothing particularly offensive, other than subject matter taken directly from the show. It takes place in an ever-so-slightly AU season three; almost everything is the same, except that Emma never got with Chris. What I have done is taken several specific scenes from season three and presented them in a slightly different way, ultimately creating the AU. Just read, it should make sense if you remember season three at all. (The scenes are from U Got the Look, This Charming Man, Accidents Will Happen pt. 2, I Want Candy, and Our House, FYI.)

**o :: o :: o :: o**

It was ninth grade and things were changing. There was tension between Toby and JT, between Manny and Emma, and it left a void to fill. Walls were going up. More and more often, during that up and down school year, JT and Emma found themselves standing side-by-side. Sharing jokes, sharing sandwich halves, sharing oxygen. Side-by-side, they filled in the spaces. Side-by-side, they faced the changes.

-o-o-o-o-

She followed him as he walked. Under the scaffolding, under their matching frowns. They walked together as they watched Manny slip away, swallowed up by the glass window that framed her and her new life. She sat in the Dot, with Sully, ignoring them. They felt the sting of adolescent betrayal.

It was ninth grade and things were changing. They could only walk on, not saying a word. Emma stayed close behind JT. He didn't want to say it out loud, but he was glad she was there.

-o-o-o-o-

Months later, in the hallway, JT joked, "Did you seen Sean and Amy in class? Totally classic."

Then her face appeared, narrowing her eyes. He kind of liked her angry-face. Sullen but glowing, heavy eyes against sand-colored skin.

He cleared his throat. "I mean… that's mean and awful and I hate Sean."

He stood beside her as she pouted, leaning against her locker, leaning against the crumbling pillar of the heart that Sean had broken. Her eyes were sad, but his smile was bright, and somehow his jokes were the perfect salve for her love-scars. It was hard to whine about Sean when JT kept her laughing. He always stood beside her in the halls. He was near when so many things she used to know felt far away.

-o-o-o-o-

She stood beside him, in the middle of the searing hush that had fallen over the cafeteria.

"These two idiots, they're pregnant," Ashley spat, storming off.

Side-by-side, they watched Manny's heart break. They stood together, stunned, afraid to move, unable to say anything. They could only meet eyes, and share the shocked confusion. JT was crushed by the truth about his crush. Emma was choking on the reality that her best friend was further away than she'd ever dreamed. It was ninth grade and things were changing. There was only one person standing beside her. She felt her heart race as she watched Manny run out of the cafeteria in an explosion of tears.

Emma was scared for her, and for some reason, she reached out and squeezed JT's hand for comfort. "I have to go to her," she said softly to him.

JT nodded. "I'll save you a sandwich," he answered, squeezing her hand in return.

-o-o-o-o-

He stood beside her as she bent over the keyboard, staring at the computer screen with her eyes glazed over in horror. Last will in testament. The last words her father would leave behind, if he died. _Died._ It was ninth grade and things were changing, and Snake was _dying_ on top of it all. Her heart was ticking nearer and nearer to explosion. Her parents had been leaving her in the dark for weeks, and she could only assume the worst. It was too much. Too much for a girl to handle all by herself.

Gentle as feathers, JT placed his hand on top of hers. She took a deep breath as she stared at their side-by-side hands, and in the next moment she found herself throwing her arms around him, burying her sobs into his t-shirt. She couldn't say it out loud, but she was glad he was there.

-o-o-o-o-

The first warm rays of summer were streaming down from the sky. All that was left before this school year came to an end was final exams and the Bollywood Nights dance. JT sat on top of a picnic table, clutching two tickets in his hands. His elbows rested on his knees as he contemplated.

"Boo!" said Emma, sneaking up and prancing beside him with a radiant smile on her face. Things had finally started getting back to normal at home. She was glad to see this school year end, and was looking forward to the summer that lay ahead.

JT smiled softly as she took a seat beside him. He liked lining of light around her blonde hair.

Emma gave JT a playful stare. "What's that I see there? Two tickets to the dance? One of those wouldn't happen to be for the long lost Manny Santos, would it?"

JT sighed, rubbing his fingers nervously over the paper tickets. "Well, I thought maybe…" He turned and looked at Emma. "But I was kind of hoping, maybe you'd want to go with me?"

Emma laughed. She reached out stroked JT's fuzzy hair affectionately. "Oh, come on, JT, don't give up that easily. Even if Manny says no I'm sure you can find a date…" She pinched his chin. "With a face like this? Give 'em the puppy dog stare, that'll work."

JT laughed gently, but lifted his eyes to meet Emma's. "I don't want you to come with me as a friend, Emma. I want… I want _you_ to be my date."

Emma's playful face began to fade. She felt a flutter in her stomach and looked away, certain she was blushing. "Oh," she said softly. "Me?"

JT reached forward and touched Emma's hair. "You've always stayed by me, Em. Everything this year has been so crazy… but when I'm with you it doesn't matter. I really like you, Emma. It'd make me really happy if you liked me as more than just a friend, but I understand if…."

Emma dove forward and kissed him. His feet wobbled underneath him as he tried to get his balance back after the surprise. So close to one another, they both felt the warmth and the gentle tickle of excitement as they kissed.

Carefully, they pulled away. They looked at each other and blushed. Emma stuttered for a moment, shocked but still smiling. "I think I've been wanting to do that for awhile." She laughed. "I mean, yeah. I don't know how else to say it. It's just… it's you, JT."

JT exhaled in relief. He took her hand. "So I guess that's a yes for the dance, then?"

Emma grinned and kissed him again. "Yes. That's a yes. A resounding yes."

With their fingers woven together, they sat side-by-side, watching the school year fade away just as something new began.


	11. Parade :: PaigeSean

**Parade :: Paige/Sean**

Notes: Someday I guess I might write something about the current characters, taking place in the current seasons… but honestly I just can't get enough of that old school goodness. Remember season two? Well if you do, this is the crack pairing for you! Takes place during the summer after "Jagged Little Pill" and continues on into a slightly AU season two. Contains all the same controversies as "Shout," so consider it rated T. This one might be a little corny, I suppose, but that's because it's written in the spirit of the early Degrassi years. You know you love it. And, since it's so rare for me to write something ever, I'm going to take this opportunity to plug my current project on fictionpress called "Lush." Go read it?

**:: o :: o :: o ::**

"_Is it just me, or has Sean turned into a total hottie since that fight?"_

I can't say why or when I went nuts for Sean Cameron. It was easy, in casual girl chatter, to gush over how cute he was. Every girl thought so, even if she would condemn him for being trailer trash in the very same sentence. But the other girls had no idea how I really felt. The tacky denim, the terrifying scowl. The history, the fights, the eyebrows. Sean Cameron: the myth. I was attracted to the danger. I was enticed by the fact that someone like him and someone like me could never get together under the watchful social eyes of junior high. I was obsessed.

I wanted him to push me down like he had pushed Emma. I wanted to be afraid of him. I wanted to feel that fear dancing down my spine. I just wasn't afraid of other boys. I kind of felt like I could control them. And I guess that was the appeal. Sean Cameron could not be tamed, could not be caged, and the challenge was too delicious to resist.

It was dry and hot that day when I approached him, titillated by the crumbling trashy neighborhood where he lived. God, if anyone ever saw me there… but that was just it. No one would ever see me _there_. He wore a skin-tight black shirt. His hands were covered in splotches of black grease. He stared at me, hard and cold, as I pranced up to him in my typical belly shirt and platform flip-flops.

"Can I help you?" he asked. He asked it not like a candy store cashier, but like a gang member. Menacing. Like I had invaded his turf. Little did he know I was more than ready for the rumble.

"I just came by to say hey," I said, which was absurd. "I was in the neighborhood. I like to keep in touch with my friends over the summer."

"We're not friends."

I scowled. He couldn't be any more bored with me. His indifference was infuriating. Paige Michalchuk did not take well to the brush off. The more disinterested he was, the more interested I became. "Yeah, well…" I placed my hands on my hip and tapped my platformed foot impatiently. "Look, do you want to make out or not?"

Eyes as unmoving as stone, Sean examined me and spit a giant loogie to the ground. "Why the hell would I want to do that?"

I shrugged, smiling coyly. "Why the hell not?"

And that's all it took to ignite the fire of summer romance. We were all over each other. All summer. Behind the slide at the old elementary school playground. In the back of dark movie theaters. In his dirty apartment. On his smelly bed.

I had _hickies._ Terri and Hazel would ask me where they came from. I would smile and brush them off as curling iron burns. And I would sizzle inside from the hot satisfaction of having a secret. Terri and Hazel didn't have secrets because they were boring. _I_ had secrets because I was better than them.

I was better than everyone, in fact. And I guess Sean didn't know that, because when school started again, he actually had the audacity to speak to me. You know, _at school._ In front of _other people._

"Excuse me?" I said to him with a snarl, while Spinner and Terri and Hazel stared on in confusion.

Sean scratched the back of his head, confused by how icily I had shot down his warm greeting. "I just… wanted to see if you wanted to hang out later."

I laughed in his face. He winced at the sting of it. "Why would I want to hang out with you?"

I laughed harder, and my friends laughed with me, because my friends typically followed my every whim. Sean's eyes glazed over with numbness as he shrugged, huffed, and walked away. He didn't dare approach me again, which hurt me in a way I didn't expect. Sean was stronger than me, see. He didn't think twice about missing me the way I missed him.

Life went on, Sean-less. Pom poms and lip gloss and gossip and the like, me on top of the world as usual. But then came Dean. I liked Dean because he was older. A little intimidating. I was attracted to the danger. I was attracted to the challenge.

I was attracted until the danger became real. Until winning the challenge meant losing my everything. Until I felt his older, stronger, bigger arms holding me against the bed until I felt bruises. Panting and screaming until my lungs burned with dry, raw desperation. No escape. No air. He hurt me, and hurt me, and hurt me, until it didn't hurt any more because I was numb. I was empty. I was powerless.

At school I was quiet. Terri and Hazel would ask me about the bruises, and I would brush them off as cheerleading stumbles. I would scream and ache inside because I had a secret. Terri and Hazel didn't have secrets because they were boring. _I _had a secret because I was stupid and arrogant.

I felt sick inside because somewhere, deep down, I sort of felt like I got what I deserved.

I took a walk one day far away from my own neighborhood, wanting to be somewhere no one would see me. It had been weeks since that night with Dean, and still no one knew. I couldn't bare to have anyone know. I pushed the hurting deep inside, hiding under lip gloss and pom poms, and only when I was far far away from prying junior high eyes could I let the secret out.

I was under the slide at the old elementary school playground, curled in a ball in the shelter of its shadow, crying my eyes out.

That's when I felt Sean beside me, his arms around me without a word.

I shoved him hard, choking on my tears and my shame. "Don't touch me," I hissed, trying as hard as I could to sound as ice cold as the day I'd blown him off at school. But something was missing. I didn't have it in me any more.

"Something happened to you," he said gently, his soft lips close to my wet cheeks.

"No shit, Sherlock. What was the giveaway, the kindergarten-style sobfest or the sitting in the gravel like a slob part?"

"Neither." Sean's breaths were steady and comforting. I could feel his chest so close (but not too close) to mine. He smelled just the same as summer. "I knew it before. I could tell at school… you acted different. A little less bitch, a little more human."

"Gee. Thanks Cameron. You're a sweet kid."

He didn't say anything and he didn't have to, because he was right. I was a bitch, and why should I be surprised when no one felt an ounce of sympathy for my pain. No one had even _noticed_ that anything was wrong with me, except for some boy I treated like shit and pretended I was too good to talk to.

"It's not as glamorous as I thought," I said softly. My voice was hoarse from crying.

"What's not?" Sean asked.

I used to my sleeve to wipe away some of the snot dribbling from my nose. "Trouble. You know, _drama_. I sort of had this crush on you because you had this, sexy parade of white trash drama following you all the time. I was like, weirdly _jealous_ of the way you pushed Emma when you got in that fight with Jimmy. Why would anyone be jealous of that? Why would anyone _want_ to be… _hurt_…" The sobs started erupting again from my body. I could feel Dean's hands, I could smell his beer-breath, I could feel the air stopping in my lungs…. The hurt… the humiliation…

Sean's arms were around me again and this time I didn't stop him. I cried into his denim jacket, screaming all the things I hadn't been able to scream for weeks because there was no one who I trusted to listen.

"I'm so stupid," I muttered, tears pouring down my face.

"You're not stupid," Sean said comfortingly, touching my hair with his hands.

"No, I am. I'm stupid. I treat people like garbage and I think I can get away with whatever I want but I… I can't. I got what I _deserved_, and I don't deserve to have you here trying to make me feel better… I was so mean to you. Why should you even care?"

I wasn't sure any of my words could even be heard clearly through my runny nose and muffled cries. I was sitting here under the slide, more vulnerable than I had ever been, spilling my insecurities out before someone who had every right in the world to give me a taste of my own medicine. I bit my lip, waiting for Sean to speak.

Gently, Sean placed his hand behind my head and guided me cautiously to his chest. I rested my face there, where it felt safe and warm. He took his other hand and roped his fingers through mine, clutching my hand.

"You're right," he said. "It's not as glamorous as it seems. Once you've had your share of drama… or should I say, what was it, a 'white trash drama parade…' Well, I guess you don't get as much satisfaction out of kicking people when they're down. Everybody gets hurt, Paige. Why would I want to make you feel any worse?"

I shrugged, silent tears still streaming. "It's what I would do," I said.

Sean sighed. "Well it looks like you're in the parade now, princess. Time to change your tactics."

I was afraid to look at Sean's face, afraid to trust his kindness when all I'd shown him was cruelty. I kept my face close to his chest, holding my breath. I felt my voice drop to a whisper. "What do I do?"

Sean's fingers squeezed mine. "Just start at the beginning. Just talk to me."

I choked. "I can't. It's too big."

"You can. And you will. When you're ready, maybe. I can tell you're a pretty tough chick."

I watched our fingers while tears kept bleeding into Sean's warm t-shirt. Every time I screamed he held me closer. He never flinched or seemed uncomfortable. He never treated me the way I had treated him countless times. Sean was stronger than me, see.


	12. Built This Way :: FionaAdam

**Built This Way :: Fiona/Adam**

Notes: Okayyyy. So with all the Fiona-focus on the show right now I kind of thought this would be a cool idea. I came up with it for the crack pairing collection, but now I'm beginning to suspect this may actually become canon. Just speculating! I don't do spoilers. I wanted to see some more pictures of this new trans character and noticed there was one of these two characters together. So who knows. I have an uncanny ability to predict Degrassi plot points. You probably don't believe me but I totally called Spinner and Emma getting married, wayyy before the movie aired. True story. Um we don't know anything about Adam yet, so I kind of made him whatever I wanted him to be. However, I think I got into Fiona's head pretty well and I could see how she might connect with someone who's experienced challenges in defining their identity. Rated T for, you know, language and angst and whatnot. Also, the title is totally a Samantha Ronson song. That's right. I went there.

**:: o :: o :: o ::**

"_I've had just about all I can take of feeling sorry for you, Fiona. You say it's not your fault and yet we keep coming back here. You keep doing things to destroy your family; you let your psychotic whims take you wherever they might. You never think of anyone but yourself. You're spoiled and short-sighted. It's exhausting."_

They were my mother's words. They echoed dully in my skull, burrowing into me, carving away at what little morale I had left. Mother had always been brutally honest, particularly after a few glasses of champagne. But this was the worst it had ever gotten. This was the cruelest she'd ever been.

My face rested on Adam's lap, surrounded by a sloppy pool of my long dark hair and endless tears.

"How can you love me?" I asked. "I'm broken. I'm a mess. I always have been. My own _family_ hates me."

His hands calmly stroked my raw skin. He touched me with a sense of security I'd never known in my home growing up. I'd always been taught to be ashamed of my tears. To hide them. To hide anything that wasn't _normal._ The more my mother tried to fit me into that mold of exquisite society girl, the more I felt like I was losing grip. The more I lost it, the more overwhelming my mother's disappointment became. I couldn't be myself and I couldn't be the Fiona Coyne she wanted and _hiding_ became the only thing I knew.

I hid my depression. I hid my insecurities. I hid my obsession with Declan. I hid the bruises from Bobby's beatings. I hid everything, all the time, trying so hard to fake it. But something always went wrong. I always managed to fumble in my masquerade. All the anti-depressants and white wine and designer clothes in the world couldn't keep me covered forever.

"_This family means something, Fiona. You have an obligation to be someone in society. You're a Coyne. There are standards for people like you. And now this? This… this… cross-dresser or whatever? Haven't you dragged our family through enough humiliation? This girl is poisoning you. This girl is a freak, Fiona, and as much as you've tried all these years, that is not what you are. You will be something more. You will be a Coyne. You will stop seeing this girl immediately."_

Stop calling him that, I wanted to scream. Stop calling Adam a girl. He's my boyfriend. He's my lover. He's the only one who's ever made me feel like I didn't have to be ashamed of my tears. He's the only one who has ever loved me for me, and I'll be damned if I won't love him for exactly who he is, too.

"You're not a mess," Adam said, his hands as comforting as ever on my face. "You're just figuring things out. We all are. Your mom will understand. She does love you."

I laughed darkly, pressing my face closer against Adam's thigh. Drowning in his warmth and wishing it would keep me safe from all the bad things. "Love in the Coyne family is sort of a complicated thing."

I could hear Adam hold his breath for a moment. He stopped stroking my face. He was thinking about something.

"Listen, Fi. I know that _this…_ I mean, me… it's not easy for parents to accept. You've had enough difficulties with your family, and I don't want to make things any harder for you. I understand if we need to… stop seeing each other for awhile. Maybe give you time to work things out at home."

I felt my heart drop in my chest like it was plunging off the Empire State Building. I sat up right, my hands shaking, my mind half-numb. I looked into Adam's eyes. "No," I said immediately. I was surprised when it came out as a whisper. I was surprised that nothing, not even my mother's cold words, terrified me more than thought of breaking up with Adam. "No, please don't leave me. I… I love you… you're the only thing I've ever really cared about. You're the only thing that's ever felt _right._"

My chest heaved violently at the onset of sobs. I felt tears cascade from my eyes and fall onto Adam's perfect hands.

"God, I'm sorry for crying like this," I screeched. "I know it's hideous. I know it makes me look crazy. I can't believe you'd ever want me… I just… I never fit. I never feel the way I think I'm supposed to feel. I can't even describe it. I'm so… fucked up."

I had once told Holly J that I wasn't built the way everyone else was. I certainly wasn't built like other Coynes. And of course, they never let me forget it. Bearing my soul to Adam like that, I couldn't help but feel a familiar vulnerability. I was waiting to be scolded. I was waiting to be told that what I wanted was selfish and what I felt was insane and I should be ashamed of myself.

But as usual, Adam never made me feel ashamed. Carefully, he placed his hands on my cheeks, catching the tears. "Shhh. Don't cry. It's all right. You think you've got problems? For some nutty reason people have been trying to tell me I'm a girl my whole life. What's that about, eh?"

He watched me patiently with those soothing gray eyes, a gentle smile beaming from his freckled face. I chuckled a little, smiling back him.

"So… we can stay together then?"

Adam leaned forward, hands still cupping my face, and placed a kiss on my forehead. "I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to. I just thought it would make things easier on you. Maybe we could just… keep it a secret from your family?"

I took a deep breath and contemplated, staring at the face that made me feel so safe. I stacked my hands on top of his, adoring the feel of the only skin that felt right next to mine.

"No way," I said, feeling confident in a way I rarely did. "You and I should never have to be a secret. I'm not hiding you, and I'm not giving you up."

I kissed him, and for a moment, there were no tears. For one beautiful, rare moment, I felt happy with who I was.


	13. Shotgun :: AlexSean

**Shotgun :: Alex/Sean**

Notes: My friends have given me crap for it, and I know slash fans will frown, but I have always found this pairing incredibly hot. Kind of in love with it, actually. Bad-ass and bad-ass? I'm just drawn to that gangsta love, and let's face it, Sean is way more gangsta than Jay could even pretend to be. Takes place in an AU season three, in which Sean and Ellie never got together. Keep in mind this is Season Three-Alex, back when she was grungy as hell, didn't say much, and was apparently straight. Contains language, explicit drug use, sexual references. Kudos to Aubrey for helping me with the ending.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Jay's drunk, being overly loud and trading bad ego-trips with the Montreal crew. He is my boo for life, best friends since baby teeth, but I can't say he doesn't gnaw on my fucking nerves sometimes. Especially lately. I'm tired of the parties, the same stories over and over again, the petty shoplifting. I want to feel something again. As I look through the crowd I spot Amy, showing too much cleavage as usual, and I can tell the way she's looking at Jay. I scowl because I can tell the way he's looking back. Whether anything's actually happened between them doesn't even matter; the eyes don't lie. I wish they weren't so obvious. I wish I didn't know.

I see Cameron leaning against a wall by himself, pouting underneath his gray hoodie. He tries not to look at Amy. He tries not to look at anyone. Even at a party, even on a totally normal day, Sean always looks angry. It glistens in those cold blue eyes. Those giant brows do nothing but exaggerate his perpetual scowl. I only know the muttered facts about him: broken-hearted over Enviro-Blondie, drunk parents, deadbeat brother, uncontrollable violence. But I don't really _know_ what Cameron's story is. What happened to Sean? Where is all that anger coming from?

I'm sick of looking at these dimwits and I know he is too. I stroll confidently across the room and tug on the strings of his hoodie. "Let's go for a walk, Cameron," I instruct, pulling him towards the hallway. He looks bewildered, but doesn't seem to mind having an excuse to leave. He follows me without saying anything.

In the hallway it's quiet but not too quiet. The thudding bassline of hip hop still rumbles through cheap drywall. I can hear television murmurs and video game blips coming from the other apartments. I glance up and down the halls, at the depressing blue paint and rusty metal numbers identifying each apartment. Behind every door, I realize, there's just another sad story. This building is crawling with clichés like us: Angry Seans and Slutty Amys and Asshole Jays, sharing their lives and their bull shit and their drama.

I sigh and retrieve from my jacket pocket the blunt I rolled in the car on the way here. Jay and Amy and I were going to smoke it with the Montreal crew, but screw it. I light it and hit it hard, exhaling a thick stream of smoke down the sad, empty hall.

When I pass it to Sean, his eyes drop a little. I smirk. He's so obvious. He knows I rolled this blunt to share with Jay. He knows he's not supposed to do anything mischievous without Jay leading the way. I smirk again. How typical… even the supposed Tough Guy Cameron is really just a follower. He doesn't want to make his own mistakes; he wants to make someone else's.

I guess I remember there was a time when I was like that, too. There was a time when I idolized Jay and his bad-ass ways. A time when I followed his every command, loving the rush of where Jay's careless whims would take us. But the rush was fading. The careless life only brought us back to the same places again: talking shit with Montreal, casting secret glances across crowded parties, stashing blunts. Getting high and eating stolen candy bars, harboring jealousy and resentment and actually convincing ourselves that we were hiding it well. Sad apartments and muted hip hop beats. An endless sea of empty hallways.

Sean and I are stoned soon, and I like it. This hallway and this moment and the muffled noise of this craptacular party are all quickly swallowed up by a pleasant buzz. Life is the same as it was five minutes ago, but now it doesn't piss me off quite as much. The profundity of emptiness becomes much more bearable under the influence of THC.

I slide, my back against the grimy blue wall, until I'm sitting comfortably on the hard floor. I reach up and tug on his hoodie strings again, commanding him without words to sit beside me. I glance carefully into Sean's face. Surely he can't stay angry all the time. Does he feel what I feel right now, that somehow, inexplicably, everything is going to turn out alright?

He furls his brow and shifts uncomfortably. I've rarely seen him uncomfortable.

"What are you staring at?" he asks, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"That freaking face of yours," I answer. "I was just checking to see if it ever changed. You always look like you're about to punch someone."

Rarer still, Sean beams a wide and genuine smile. "_I _always look like I'm about to punch someone? What about you?"

Delicately, I pluck the diminishing roach from Sean's fingers. He's got chubby fingers. Hands that could strangle. Or strike a blow that could deafen.

I suck on the blunt and take my time in responding. The noisy apartment complex rumbles dully around us.

"What _about_ me?" I echo.

Sean shrugs. "I mean... You're one _really _scary chick."

Suddenly I'm beaming, too, because hell... That was funny.

"Good point." I nod, stealing another greedy drag from the blunt. "Good point, good point, good point." Indeed I'm slipping into the repetitive drawl of someone stoned. "Well crap. What are we so pissed off about, anyway? Why are we always looking for a fight?"

I look at his face again, making a sincere effort to really understand those troubled curves and angles. _What's_ your story, Cameron? _Why _are you always so angry?

Sean doesn't answer. Sean doesn't know the answer, I guess. And I realize in a sudden crushing moment that really, honestly, if Sean _knew _the answer, his life wouldn't have taken the hapless detour that led him into our candy bandit spiral. He wouldn't be with people like this, at parties like this, if he had the answers that I so desperately craved. Maybe I wouldn't, either.

In our strange but intoxicating silence, I try to hand him the blunt. He shakes his head.

"It's spent," he mutters.

It's not really spent, I think, but really it's those giant-ass fingers of his that can't clutch the petite remains. I look him over once again, beguiled by his angry contours and rare smiles.

"Don't be a pussy, Cameron," I taunt. In a fluid, thoughtless motion I throw my legs over him and straddle his middle. "Let's shotgun."

He's surprised and, again, uncomfortable, and something about that gives me a real sense of satisfaction. I like rumpling that rigid, stony face of his. I take the red hot end of the blunt and face it toward my throat, as I expertly nestle the roach between my teeth. I lean in close to the boy and cup my hands around both our mouths, and then I blow, firm and steady. He inhales deeply as I force the intoxicating cloud into his lungs.

When it's over, he tilts his head back against the hallway wall. He exhales heavily. I'm high enough to hear his heartbeat, to watch his lungs expand and contract.

"Now," I say. "You do me."

His eyes meet mine. They are fierce and stoned. He lets me position the blunt in his mouth, with my spindly fingers, and we shotgun again. I suck it in deep until my lungs burn and beg for mercy. Now I am really, _really_ high.

My fingers graze Sean's lips as I take out the blunt and extinguish the grubby roach on the floor. We're done smoking but I don't move from my snug position on his lap. We stay huddled close, breathing and staring.

"So I guess you've been noticing me," I say smugly.

Sean blinks, red-eyed, distinctly dazed and confused. "...What?"

"You've been noticing the way my face stays angry. I've noticed it about you, too. We don't hide it well."

Sean shrugs. And I can see, with an elating wave of hubris, the struggle within him. He just smoked Jay's blunt, and now he's got Jay's girl straddling him. He knows what could happen. But he's afraid. He's a stubborn and uncertain boy, that much has always been obvious. He won't give me what I suddenly want unless I take it.

I don't say anything else. Words would not move Sean Cameron. Boys like that don't go for lines. Neither do girls like me, come to think of it. We are the kind of people who speak in scowls and harsh gazes. All we know how to do is fight, fuck and steal. Jay isn't the only one who's careless, I realize.

Instead I clamp my legs tighter around him. I tug down his hood and I grab his face, forcing him to enjoy my mouth the same way I forced the shotgun down his throat. His huge hands find my hips instantly and he clutches me, presses me into him. We both taste like pot as we kiss, and writhe, while the muted hells of sad apartments drone on around us.


	14. Gone :: SeanJimmy

**Gone :: Sean/Jimmy**

****Notes: Man, no love for Alex/Sean? Then this next one is DEFINITELY gonna bomb. I had to try out at least one male/male pairing, even though I really have no skill for it at all. So here's this. Like many of the others, this one sort of weaves within the canon and puts a twist on seasons 1-4. I promise that I am working on some crack pieces involving newer characters, but what can I say? Seasons 1-5 are where my heart truly lies. And I realize Sean is way over-represented throughout this whole project but um... yeah. I love Sean. I write about Sean. It's a tough habit to break.

**:: o :: o :: o ::**

When I left Degrassi, I never thought I would see him again. It was heartbreaking at first. He wanted me to write letters. He wanted to come visit during summer break. He wanted us to stay friends. But I couldn't let that happen. I realized it was all for the best that Jimmy and I were separated. When I left, I would never see or know Jimmy Brooks ever again. When I left, our secrets would leave with me. And that was the way it had to be.

I can still remember meeting in the park after school, playing basketball, trading pudding cups. All the simplicity and innocence of being seventh-grade boys. At that age it's hard to admit you need someone. But you do. And I did more than most. With Jimmy I didn't have to put up a front, play it tough, play the role of Sean Cameron Hard Ass Extraordinaire. We could just play ball. Be kids. Be friends. He made me feel normal. And safe. He gave me an excuse to hide from my wreck of a home life for a few extra hours. There was almost always no one waiting at home for him in that big, empty apartment, so I guess he probably liked having someone to be with, too.

We started spending time in the ravine. Behind the trees. Where people couldn't see us. Where we didn't have to be what people wanted us to be. We liked each other. Neither of us had kissed a girl before. It was easy to decide to kiss each other. Experimenting, I guess. Practicing. We knew it wasn't what boys were supposed to do, but that made it that much more fun.

It had to be a secret. But it was a special secret. An exciting secret. It was my favorite secret.

But when I left for Wasaga, I let those secrets fade into obscurity. I pretended our secrets had never happened. I pretended we had never been friends. I pretended I never liked Jimmy Brooks.

When I left my parents and returned to Degrassi the next school year, I was terrified. I didn't want to face those memories. I was embarrassed. What would people say? I liked girls now. I kissed girls now. I was supposed to be kissing girls, after all. I didn't want to be humiliated by some stupid little phase.

Jimmy had a girlfriend now. Ashley Kerwin. That made it even more embarrassing. Jimmy had moved on just fine, hidden our secrets with no problem at all. He didn't even seem upset about the letters I'd never sent. When he tried to extend his friendship and welcome me back, I went back to playing an act. Hard-as-Nails Tough Guy Cameron again. I didn't need anyone's friendship. I didn't need Jimmy.

And that's how it was, from then on. Enemies. We couldn't trust each other. We couldn't be around each other. And yet, the harder I pushed him away, the more I missed him. When I kissed Ashley and rubbed it in Jimmy's face, I knew, deep down, that I only did it because I wanted him to think of me again. The more I pretended I hated him, the more I realized I just wanted to be his friend again.

For years this agony went on. My silent denial. And then Rick Murray brought a gun to school. And then everyone's lives were different, forever.

My palms were sweating as I clutched the latest DJ Mad Bullets CD in my hands, turning the corner of the cold, sterile hallway. Even from several feet away, I could see the explosion of color through Jimmy's open door. His hospital room was suffocating in bouquets of flowers, the décor of well wishes from dozens of visitors. Jimmy had so many friends who had already been to see him. I felt like I wasn't one of them. I felt like I had no right to be there.

"Sean?" called Jimmy's tired voice. "Sean Cameron?"

It was too late to turn back. My feet had already brought me to the threshold, forced to gaze at the laid-up body of the boy who'd been my first kiss and then disappeared from my life.

I could feel sweat collecting on my forehead as I fondled the CD case and hesitated in the doorway. "I um... I wanted to make sure you were okay," I said, stupidly.

Jimmy cracked a smile. Weakly, he opened his palms to indicate the array of medical equipment that surrounded him, the bandages and slings that held his body together, the dismal scene of being hospital-bound for God knew how long. "Bullet in my spine," he chuckled. "Can't feel or move my legs, maybe I never will again. Yeah, Sean, I'm okay."

Once I felt tears prickle in my eyes I knew I couldn't turn back now. I couldn't play tough, I couldn't play it off like I was just another kid at school who was sad about the _idea _of Jimmy Brooks because I was really, truly sad about the _person_ Jimmy Brooks. The person I'd once known. The person I once thought about all the time. The person I let go.

I shut the door and moved to the chair beside his bed. I reached out, without even thinking about it, and put his hand in mine. An act of affection that would have been unthinkable, before this one weird sad moment. But after what had happened... no. I wasn't going to let my hang-ups keep me from holding Jimmy's hand.

"What the fuck, man," I breathed, trying not to cry. "I'm... I'm so sorry."

Jimmy stared at me. He seemed sort of... quiet. Defeated. I couldn't even imagine what he'd been through. "Don't," he said. "I'm tired of hearing it. I appreciate it, man, I do... but that's what they all say. Everyone comes in here and they cry and they give me more fucking flowers and they tell me how sorry they feel for me. I'm sick of it. Why can't I just feel sorry for myself? Why is everyone else trying to do it for me? What else do I have left but my right to be pissed off and self-pitying? And people try to outshine you on even that."

He sighed, sadly, and looked down at our hands. His face was cool, his words sarcastic, but he squeezed my hand like it was the only thing holding him to this world.

"Come on, Cameron," he continued with a dark smile. "I thought of all people, you'd be one I could count on not to come in here all emotional."

I let myself laugh. We let ourselves laugh about it. Just a little. It was all so impossibly, inconceivably, irreparably sad, that it felt safe to laugh. Nothing, not even the darkest humor, could make it worse, after all.

I thought of a thousand petty things I wanted to say to him. How sorry I was that I'd been such a dick when we were fourteen; how stupid it was to shut him out all these years; how I missed him so much it was retarded; how I would give anything to have done things differently.

But you can't say those things to someone who was in Jimmy's position. You can't sit there and feel sorry about _you_ and how bad it makes _you _feel. He was right; everyone telling him how sorry they were wouldn't do a damn thing for_ him_.

Then, I was crying. It couldn't be stopped. "Do you ever wish you could go back..." I struggled to say. "And do things over again?"

Jimmy eyed me darkly. He wasn't crying.

"Sometimes," he said. His voice was cold and empty. "Only from the time I wake up in this bed, til the time that the drugs they give me finally knock me out at night. And sometimes in my dreams."

At this I choked just a little. I wiped my tears with my sleeves and snorted the dripping snot back into my nose.

"You just don't really know what you have until it's gone," he continued.

I nodded, making a sincere attempt to keep a strong and straight face.

He was talking about his legs. But I was thinking about us. How I let Jimmy go so easily, for all the wrong reasons, until we were so far away from each other that it took bullets and blood for me to come to terms with the feelings I'd once had for a boy.

Those secret kisses in the woods were only soft, gauzy memories. The images of Rick's blood soaking my clothes and watching Jimmy unconscious on a stretcher were fresh as ever. We held hands and sat quietly, hospital equipment humming around us. I felt hollow. But there was nothing I could do. What was gone was gone.


End file.
